


Stealing Home

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - High School, Baseball, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Smut, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4452149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Wyatt moves with his mother and sister to Pawnee, Indiana right before his last semester of high school. He thinks baseball will keep him sane, but when he discovers the girl who yelled at him for not loving a pony is the team's star pitcher, baseball might just drive him crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stealing Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [c00kie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/c00kie/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY Hana!!!!! Hana you are my favorite person in all of the universe, an inspiration, and joy to have in my life. I hope you enjoy this fic, which stemmed from you wanting baseball player!Ben. Thank you for having a birthday and being a wonderful friend and drawing me out of a writing and anxiety funk to write this for you. I love you for that and for everything.

For a rather small town, Pawnee, Indiana sure does go all out for Christmas

Not that Ben hates Christmas, he certainly doesn’t hate Christmas or anything, but is this all absolutely necessary? Pawnee’s Christmas tree lighting ceremony could almost put Disneyland to shame. The park is lined with oversized Christmas ornaments and there are walkways created by candy cane lights in the grass. They can take you to “Snow Village” where there are snowball making contests and small sledding hills, or to “Gum Drop Lane” where the smell of hot chocolate is practically sticky and overwhelming. There’s crafts and a line of booths with Christmas and winter themed carnival game. Children are walking around with oversized stuffed animals, victorious.

In the center of it all is an oversized tree, decorated with red and green bulbs and handmade ornaments. The star glows on the top and the lights wrapped around the tree blink a rainbow of colors. 

How could they afford this? There isn’t even a Whole Foods here.

The air is cold but nothing like Minnesota, but Ben welcomes the bite in the air and the sting in his cheeks. He can almost pretend he’s home, in Partridge, and his family still lives under the same roof.

“I wanna go to the Olaf contest,” his sister says, steering Ben toward Snow Village. 

“Oh good, so I can hear the song again.”

“I don’t sing it _every_ time.”

Ben looks at her and she hits his arm before leading them through the crowd. An elf, or a teenager dressed as an elf who looks like she’s going to murder Ben, hands them candy canes. She also reminds them to, “Leave rotten tomatoes for Satan on Christmas Eve.” 

This place is weird.

He’s almost positive that the elf works or volunteers for the city so he unwraps his candy cane and pops it into his mouth, pocketing Stephanie’s. She only likes the fruity flavored kind. 

“What’s that?” Stephanie asks, pointing.

A large crowd is gathered around a green and red striped canopy. If there’s a sign promoting whatever seventh wonder of the world is under that tent, Ben can’t find it. Stephanie moves toward the crowd and Ben follows, craning his neck to get a glimpse of whatever is hidden behind the insane amount of people. There’s even a queue, set up with chain switchbacks that have ornaments dangling from them. The line of bundled up citizens extends past the queue and into Snow Village. 

The crowd erupts into laughter and cheers; Ben jumps back into Stephanie.

“Benji!”

“Sorry.”

Ben tries to take one last look through shoulders or heads but he comes up empty.

“Excuse me?” Ben asks someone waiting in line. A man turns around, ready for Ben’s question, his face friendly and round. “What is this line for?”

“Oh! To meet Li’l Sebastian!” 

“I’m sorry?” Ben takes the candy cane out of his mouth, holding it between his fingers like a cigarette. 

“Li’l Sebastian!” A gorgeous, almost too gorgeous (especially when paired with the man she’s with), woman peeks out from the other side of the man. “He’s an amazing and noble mini horse.”

The man nods. “He’s truly a gift.”

“A horse?” Ben asks.

“A mini horse,” the woman corrects, booping Ben on the nose with her manicured finger.

“Okay… thanks.”

Before Ben can wrap his mind around people waiting hours to see a mini horse or how a man like that gets a woman like that, Stephanie is pulling him toward the end of the line. 

“I wanna see the pony, Benji!”

Ugh. The Olaf snowman making contest at least consisted of someone exuding talent. What was the dumb horse going to do? Shit? 

Ben twists the hook of his candy cane in his fingers before putting it back in his mouth. “Really? You want to wait in line and see a pony?” 

“Yeah!”

“We’re not waiting in line, come on.” 

Ben holds onto the dangling mitten from Stephanie’s sleeve and starts to weave a path into the crowd of people. He’ll put Steph on his shoulders if he has to, even if it’s proven to be difficult since she left kindergarten. He’s not that strong, he’s fast and focused, which makes him a good shortstop.

It takes a little time and maneuvering and a lot of curses yelled his way, but he finally gets Stephanie to the edge of the pen. It smells like shit and hay and whatever other gross fragrance that comes with farm animals. The pen is made up to look like Santa’s workshop with presents and plastic candy canes, there’s even a mock, pony-sized workbench. There are lights and a professional photographer who is dressed like an elf and taking pictures of people with Li’l Stuart. 

Stephanie has her face against the fence, watching and enthralled by the pony’s small movements and little whinnies. Good Lord when it whinnies, you’d think it just performed open heart surgery based on the crowd’s reaction. Ben rolls his eyes.

“I can’t believe people would wait in line to see a dumb pony,” he says.

“What did you just say?”

Ben looks to his left and there he finds a girl. A short girl who is around his age, with blonde hair that is peeking out in a soft flip below her red beanie. Her cheeks are pink and there is a dusting of freckles beneath her blue, blue eyes. Her brows are furrowed and her nose is scrunched giving her entire face a pinched look that is confusingly adorable; confusing only because she looks like she might rip his throat out at any moment.

“Uh--”

“First of all, he’s a mini horse,” she says, her voice is high and scathing. There might be supernovas behind her eyes.

“Okay?”

“And he’s not dumb, he has a degree from Notre Dame. Do you have a degree from Notre Dame?”

“No.”

“Exactly. So respect the mini horse.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Okay, I won’t say anything else about Li’l Stuart.”

The girl turns to him and gestures to the pony. “Li’l Sebastian!”

“Whatever,” Ben mumbles. The cute girl turns back to the pen and watches Li’l Sebastian pose for pictures or do whatever ponies do for pictures. Stand and shit, probably.

Ben sneaks glances at her. She’s not looking at him, her eyes locked in a stubborn stare on Li’l Sebastian. Her fingers are gripping onto the fence. Is she seeing something else? Because really all Ben can see, or rather smell, is a horse. It’s not even pretending to make toys at its fake workbench.

“I just don’t get it, what’s the deal? Did your mom always take you to see him or something?” Ben asks, because he obviously likes pain. Or her. Both?

She whips around, ready, as if she’s been waiting for him to say something the entire time. Her eyes are flaring and her nose is scrunched again. She’s a mini volcano.

“Lil Sebastian is a national treasure!” She gestures to the crowd. “Everyone loves Li’l Sebastian.”

“Because?”

“Are you serious? Look at him.”

Ben looks. It’s the same, just a horse that is smaller than a regular horse.

“What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Get out.”

The crowd cheers for another one of Li’l Sebastian’s whinnies. It contrasts almost beautifully with the pure, unfiltered anger that is radiating off of this girl.

“What?” he shouts.

“Leave.”

He laughs. “Are you the mayor or something?”

“Maybe” -- she shrugs -- “maybe I’m the youngest mayor in all of Pawnee history.”

Ben leans in. “Are you?”

“Get out.” She reaches up and takes the candy cane from his mouth and throws it on the ground.

“Are you serious?”

“Now.”

Ben knows, at least he’s 99% sure, that this girl is not the mayor, but he leaves anyway. He pulls Steph away from the fence and goes back through the crowd. Once they’re out of the mess of people, Ben hears his sister’s protests. 

“--and I wasn’t done looking at him! I want to get a picture!”

“We’re not waiting in line to take a picture with a stupid pony.”

Ben is being a dick. He knows that. It isn’t Stephanie’s fault that he’s incredibly annoyed about the stupid pony -- or mini horse. It’s not Stephanie’s fault that he got chewed out by a very short fireball of a girl because he, like a very rational human being, knows that this horse holds no significance whatsoever. Is this what Pawnee is going to be like? Being yelled at for having common sense? Wasn’t high school enough?

He plays a game of what if in his mind, going over better comebacks or more rational ways to convey that she’s being ridiculous. There’s even a scenario where he takes her hat because she took his candy cane as if he’s an actual five year old. Every playback comes with a swirl in his stomach and a heat in his chest, embarrassment and annoyance battling it out inside his body.

“Stop pulling me!”

Ben stops. They’re on the sidewalk, the ceremony festivities behind them. “Oh, sorry, Steph.”

“I don’t want to go yet,” she whines.

Ben rubs his eyes, pushing too hard on his lids. He tries not to be annoyed at Stephanie’s whining -- he’s the one being an asshole after all -- and nods, directing them back into the winter wonderland. The Olaf contest is over but there’s a Christmas tree ornament making table in Craft Court that is a good placeholder for his sister. 

Ben sits next to Stephanie and watches her pick out pre-cut snowflakes and candy canes, spewing glitter everywhere. He thinks about how ridiculous it is that he got thrown out of a crowd for dissing a mini horse. He thinks about a small wrinkled nose, piercing blue eyes, and a high, angry voice. Stephanie shows him her finished ornament and he could use a distraction, so he helps her make the next one.

\--

“Benjamin Wyatt!”

Ben turns, face to face with a guy he’s pretty sure was in his trigonometry class. His smile is huge and friendly and he pats Ben’s bare shoulder in greeting. 

“It’s just Ben,” he says, quickly grabbing his shirt.

The locker room is busy and noisy with guys yelling and jumping over benches in all different stages of undress. This guy is fully dressed in old baseball pants and a Pawnee Central Seniors Class of 2015 sweatshirt.

“Excellent!” The guy takes a long drag from his water bottle and Ben’s not sure if he should continue getting dressed or what. “I’m Chris, it’s so good to meet you! Usually, no one on the baseball team is in my math classes with me. This will be so fun!” Chris wipes his mouth and pushes his water bottle toward Ben. “Water? You have to stay hydrated, it is the most important element of any sport.”

“Oh, no thank you, I have my own water.”

“Yes!” Chris says, pumping his fists into the air. “You have to meet everyone.” 

Before Ben can respond, Chris is rattling off names and people are grunting or waving in his direction while Ben tries to get his clothes on. The room empties in small groups and soon and Ben leaves with Chris, who continues to want to know everything about Ben. It should be annoying, but Ben likes Chris’ positivity and enthusiasm, it makes it easier to talk to him, like nothing Ben says couldn’t be wrong. Chris would probably give you a gold star for saying how your day is going.

Ben’s baseball pants have a rip in the knee and his sweatshirt sticks out like a sore thumb among the countless red Pawnee Central ones. He’s wearing his old navy Twins sweatshirt that he got at a game years ago. He’s worn it to every try out since middle school.

The air has a nice bite to it as they walk to the baseball field. There’s some snow on the outskirts of the field, but it’s mostly melted and dirty. Ben’s old high school always postponed try outs for a few weeks to wait out snow, but in Pawnee it doesn’t seem to be as big of a problem.

People are stretching and chatting, bouncing on toes to warm muscles and blood in the cold weather. Two players are making out in the dugout. He’s never seen that before. Not so much making out or anything, but a girl on the baseball team. She’s tiny, especially compared to Andy. They don’t come up for air or even notice the coach has come until their names are called. 

Coach Swanson, who, “Doesn’t give a damn what you call him as long as you can play ball,” looks around at everyone and asks someone, Knope, to lead them in a stretch. A small, blonde tornado whips through the group of players to the front and turns around with her bright, pink cheeks. Ben feels all of his organs hit the ground.

He really had forgotten about her. Well, mostly. Sometimes he was at the dinner table, picking through rice and peas and replaying that night, collecting better comebacks. Sometimes he saw her angry eyes when he was in the shower. But really, he forgot about her. Kinda.

But there she is, her hair pulled back in a tiny, messy bun, leaving her face fresh and uncovered. She’s smiling and clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes, talking about the importance of perseverance and hard work and how, “this is only the beginning.” Her nose, her stupid nose that is always scrunched in his mind, is pink, and she’s wearing grey baseball pants and a long sleeved shirt underneath a Pawnee Central Puppies Baseball t-shirt. She looks exactly the same and totally different. Her energy is positive and warm and she’s so excited, it’s radiating off of her. The sun is creeping through the clouds and Ben is convinced it is because she’s here, calling it to the field. All the comebacks he had for her, and the things he meant to do if he saw her again, are swept away.

When her eyes find him, Ben realize his mouth is hanging open. He snaps his jaw shut and looks down at the grass. It’s too late, he saw the shift in her gaze, the spark of recognition and then her excitement giving way for anger across her face. He tries his best not to hear the tense strain of her voice as she leads everyone in a soft stretch. He follows along with the group, just hearing her words, not daring to look into her eyes again.

She’s obviously a captain or some kind of guarantee for varsity if she’s been picked to lead stretches and delivering motivational speeches. Is she going to ruin his chances of making the team? Baseball is his only hope for a good end of the year. When his mom told him that they would be moving, she said, “Pawnee Central hasn’t had their baseball tryouts yet,” like a sweet promise of a regular life among the newly wrecked one. This is it.

“Run the bases,” Coach swanson yells, and everyone starts running in a single file line to home plate before they begin their trek around the infield. 

Ben tries to concentrate on the crunch of dirt beneath his cleats and not the blonde head bobbing at the front of the line. It’s fine, everything's fine. He’ll just continue not looking at her or talking to her and maybe it won’t matter that she hates him. It certainly doesn’t matter to him. He reminds himself to breathe even though he’s doing just fine. Fine, he’s fine. Again, he’s fine. Just really, it’s fine and okay and--

“You’re weird.”

Ben jumps and stumbles over second base. The girl Andy was making out with, April, looks back at him. She looks familiar, where has he seen her before? 

“H-hello,” Ben says between breaths.

“No, no, I said you’re weird.” She shouts the last two words as if he’s a deaf old man.

“I heard you,” Ben says.

“Less talking, more running!” Coach Swanson yells and Ben mumbles a swear. 

It’s time to focus. No angry blonde girls or girls who bully him or anything else that’s been bothering and distracting Ben lately. He wants to play baseball and the only way to do that is to make this team.

Which, as it turns out, may not be that hard. There’s a definite caste among the group, people who have played together for awhile, some who are sure of their chances, goofballs, and the helpless. It’s not hard for Ben to place himself among the group. 

Ben warms up with Chris, throwing the ball back and forth while he talks about trig and takes small breaks to wave at his girlfriend, Ann, who is bundled up in her coat and hat on the bleachers.

Knope, who he learns from some old fashioned eavesdropping is named Leslie, is throwing with April. Leslie keeps looking at Ben, but it’s only fair because he keeps looking at her.

And he never really stops. He watches her go into the bullpen with Andy and April. He watches Leslie pitch, soft at first, and then growing in strength, form, and speed. He watches her evaluate April’s pitches, watches her help place April’s feet, critique her follow through, and watches Leslie hug April and Andy until it turns into a makeout fest that Leslie squirms out from.

They take turns playing on the field and going up to bat. Leslie and April switch off pitching; they’re good and consistent, leaving their teammates with plenty of room to shine. Ben’s stomach churns as his turn gets closer and closer, but Chris’ encouraging thumbs up every time Ben throws an out to him at first helps a little.

Ben grabs a helmet and slides it onto his head as he walks up to the plate. His insides squeeze and squirm and he feels so hot under his good luck sweatshirt. April is pitching, but Leslie is right next to her, watching him with that intense gaze he remembers. He rotates the bat in each hand, working his wrists before he digs his feet into the box.

“Let me,” Leslie says, her eyes still locked onto him as she pushes April off the mound. April tosses her the ball and ice trickles down his spine.

Leslie turns the ball in her hand before tossing it into her glove. She bends down a little to stare at Andy, who apparently isn’t even paying attention because she has to hiss at him. She’s shaking her head as Andy presents pitch options to her. Ben’s real hot now, he’s sure he’s soaked through his t-shrit and he’d like to go lay down in the dirty snow behind the bleachers.

Finally, Leslie’s pink lips slide up into a wicked grin and there’s something evil and confident behind her eyes. He hears Andy say, “Oh fuck,” and adjust his crouch. Ben grips his bat, remembers to keep his elbow up and his eyes on her but it’s so damn distracting. Good lord, she actually laughs a little before she stands back up and puts her glove in front of her. A match ignites inside Ben’s stomach.

She turns and adjusts her stance, and it’s not long before she is winding up and Ben forgets to breathe. The ball flies to him, leaving an explosion of yellow hair behind it. Ben blinks and it’s gone, his swing off and clumsy and way too late. He isn’t even sure if she pitched a curve ball or a fast ball or just some made up thing that definitely goes beyond basic physics. 

Leslie cackles as she catches the ball from Andy. Coach Swanson tells her to cool it and she only acknowledges him with a wave of her glove. 

Ben’s not the best batter, but he’s not terrible, and right now he feels like a complete idiot. He takes a few breaths and rolls his shoulders. He prepares for her again, watches her nod and shake through Andy’s choices and tries to block the tremble in his arms when she takes her stance. She throws and Ben can see this one curve so he jumps before the ball hits him.

“What the hell?” Ben yells.

“What?” Leslie says, smiling.

“That was a little inside, Knope,” Coach Swanson says.

“Oops.”

“Right down the middle, I mean it.”

Leslie waves Coach Swanson off again but when she throws the next pitch, it’s nice and easy to hit, getting Ben to first base where Chris high fives him. Ben looks back at Leslie as he takes off his helmet and walks it back to the helmets and bats leaning against the dugout. He jobs back to his spot in the infield and continues to play. He watches Leslie switch back and forth with April, throws grounders to Chris, and tries to get his mind clear of all the rambling, overbearing, insistent thoughts that weave and spin inside his mind.

Everyone bats again, Ben gets April the second time and hits her third pitch that Kelly catches at third. It’s a weird hit and Ben’s not too proud of it. 

He takes off his hat at the end of tryouts and rubs his hand through his hair. He did okay, especially on the field, but he can’t shake her. Her evil laugh and her piercing eyes and the way her little bun bobs when she maneuvers on the mound. How she’s ruining his chances of making the team. 

He showers and dresses, placing his hat back on his head before walking out of the locker room with Chris, who is complimenting every single person (even the pervy creep Dexhart who only stared at Leslie’s ass the whole time) while they walk toward the parking lot.

Ann and Leslie are sitting on the hood of Chris’ old Honda, chatting. Ben looks at his car and considers running the other direction but for some reason he follows Chris. He even nods when Chris tells him he has to meet his girlfriend. 

When Ann sees them, she grips Leslie’s arm. Leslie follows Ann’s gaze and she actually jerks forward but Ann keeps her rooted next to her. Ben really wishes his body would listen to his brain and run to his car. Or back to school, or to Hoth, just anywhere but to his certain death.

Chris kisses Ann on the cheek but her grip on Leslie doesn’t falter.

“Look,” Ben says to Leslie, putting his hands up, “maybe we should start over, I’m--”

“A terrible and very rude person who, who… ah, I’m just so angry right now I can’t even think of what you do!” Leslie throws her hands up and then points to him, her eyes wide. “Sucks!”

“Leslie,” Ann says. Ben can’t help but notice that her hold on Leslie is gone.

“Why are you trying out for the team? No one wants you on the team, actually.”

“Who said that?” Ben asks. The heat boils in his blood again, the prickling of anger starting in his neck. 

“Everyone.”

He knows that can’t be true, but it still stings.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Ben tries to deliver that news as gently as possible but it only makes Leslie clench her hands into fists and scrunch her nose. 

The weird part is, he doesn’t mind making her angry. He likes it. Ben just wishes she didn’t also hate him.

“Yeah well, we’ll see. You couldn’t even hit off me.”

“I did actually.”

“I let you.”

They’re very close now. It’s easy to get caught in her pull, as if her anger, her determination, everything that is inside her can tug you in like the Death Star’s tractor beam. She’s looking up at him with her chip up at a harsh angle, nostrils flaring and eyes blazing. His ears and cheeks feel hot and he’s breathing hard for some reason and he just wants to grab her and -- and what? He would never hit her, he doesn’t even want to, but something calls for him to move in and capture her, touch her, do something with her.

Ben takes a step back. Chris and Ann are watching them. Ann looks away when Ben catches her and she pretends to check her phone.

“Okay well,” Ben says, “it was nice to meet you, Leslie.”

He slams his car door shut and speeds home.

\--

Ben’s making pasta over the stove and scrolling through a stupid buzzfeed article while his sister does her homework at the kitchen table. U2 is streaming out of the little speaker of his iPad and they’re both quietly singing and bobbing along. Occasionally, Steph asks for help with her multiplication table and he takes a break from cooking or mindless Internet browsing to help her.

“Thanks for making dinner, Benji,” his mom says, walking into the kitchen. She drops her travel mug into the sink and ruffles Ben’s hair. He nods. “Call your father when you have a chance, I don’t want to hear about how you don’t call him anymore.” 

Ben’s neck tightens and he rolls his left shoulder to ease the muscle.

It’s not so much that Ben hates his dad, he just doesn’t really like him either. He can’t hate him, though. Without his dad, Ben wouldn’t have baseball.

Henry, Ben’s older brother, never liked baseball. As the story goes, Henry played t-ball for a whole week before hiding underneath his bed to avoid going back. His mother tells this story with a nurturing humor and a gleam in her eye, while Ben’s dad kind of mumbles and shrugs a lot through the whole thing. That’s how he feels about a lot of Ben’s interests, or maybe Ben himself, but at least Ben has baseball.

Once Ben found a way for him to actually get a hug from his own father, he wasn’t going to shy away from it. He went to t-ball every week and went to Twins games with his dad once a month during the season. At a game, when Ben was six, his dad showed him how to keep track of the game on a scorecard and Ben was hooked for life. 

He keeps up with stats, assembles fantasy baseball teams, and when he was still living with his dad, they would play catch every night. Ben has the magic touch to get through to his dad, he could get him past his obvious disdain for his wife, for his job, and probably all of life in general by just playing catch. 

But Ben understands. There’s a calm balance to everything in baseball. The game itself is rather slow and mild as far as sports go, there’s so much math involved and math has always been Ben’s happy place. Ben likes wearing in his glove, taking the time every night to leave it rubber banned and oiled. He likes the simple act of tossing the ball, it’s a soft and focused interaction with the feel of muscles, leather, and thread. It reminds him of warm summer nights with his dad and bright spring afternoons with his friends. Baseball has always been a constant focal point for Ben.

Until Leslie Knope.

“Nines aren’t hard,” Ben says after Stephanie tells him just the opposite. He pours his pasta in a strainer and turns, putting up all ten fingers. “Nine times four.” He puts down his ring finger then wiggles his fingers as he counts. “One, two, three -- 30. One, two, three, four, five, six -- 36.” 

He’s thought about asking Stephanie to throw the ball around but like Henry, she’s never taken to the sport, preferring dance classes and gymnastics and anything that allows her to sing Frozen songs at all times. 

Stephanie puts up her fingers. “What?”

Ben slows down his explanation as he gets three plates ready for dinner. He puts one in front of Stephanie.

“So do six times nine,” he says and Stephanie puts up her fingers and counts.

“54!”

“Nice.”

They high five and she starts digging into her pasta. He yells that dinner is done and steps into the living room to call his dad, so he can use dinner as an excuse to keep the conversation short. 

It’s not short, though. His dad asks about tryouts and Ben can’t stop talking about her. How she’s good but hates him and he couldn’t hit off of her until she let him and how she’s obviously a team favorite because of course she is, she can pitch better than anyone he’s ever seen, and she’s going to tell the coach not to let him on the team and--

“Oh Benny, you’re screwed,” his father says, laughing. His dad has one of those grough laughs that aligns well with his low, scary voice.

Ben rubs his eyes. “I know. I’m not going to make the team.” 

Another laugh. “No, you’ll make the team, you always do.” He sighs. “You’ve got a thing for the pitcher.”

Ben groans. “No I don’t, she’s just under my skin.”

“Exactly.”

\--

It turns out Ben’s dad is right: he makes the team.

This, apparently, means a party on a Tuesday night. 

“It’s tradition,” Chris assures Ben before trig. He’s smiling when he tells him the team is always miserable and tired and hungover the next day. 

Ben has an essay due tomorrow and a test, but something tells Ben if he mentions that, he may lose his spot on the team. Everyone pats him on the back through the day and Ben starts to wonder if his proxy to Chris has made him popular overnight. Either way, it feels good to belong and that feeling carries him out the door after dinner and to Andy’s house for a party. 

Andy has a really cool basement that from the look and smell of it, acts as both a hang out for him and his brothers, and Andy’s room. Andy hugs Ben when he walks in, already reeking of beer, and starts to give him the grand tour.

“This over here is my music area or corner if you will,” Andy says, walking him to a corner where there are two guitars leaning against the wall and a bongo drum. “Over there is my bed where April and I have sex, and I mean a lot of sex, like if--”

“Got it.” Ben shakes his head as if the image will spill out of his ears.

“I’m just saying, we do it. A lot.” Andy walks Ben to an old TV that has a PlayStation 3 connected to it. There’s pillows and blankets on the ground where Tom and Jean Ralphio are playing Grand Theft Auto. “Multimedia Zone here.” Andy points across the room at a mini fridge under a rickety table that is holding way too much hard liquor and from what Ben can tell, Jell-O shots. “That’s the kitchen. Or the chef space, whatever you want to call it, you can make it your own, you know?” Andy pats Ben on the back, hard. “Get a drink, shortstop!” 

“Shorty stop,” Jean Ralphio sings from the floor.

Andy shoves Ben toward the chef space and he decides to pour himself a small shot of vodka. Kelly takes one with him and he congratulates Ben afterward, leaving him to go watch Grand Theft Auto. 

It’s obvious the team already gels and Ben is missing the adhesive. They aren’t rude or neglectful, Andy comes over to take shots of rum with him and all, but there’s history and relationships here that Ben’s just not apart of. They’re telling stories about people he doesn’t know and classes he wasn’t in. He misses Partridge and any of that popularity high he was feeling today is being swept away by a Jell-O shot. And another.

Ben is drunk when she arrives. Not wasted or anything, nothing like that end of the year party he went to last June, but he’s definitely drunk. The room ignites as she jumps off the last step and Andy grabs her, hoisting her onto his shoulder. She braces her hand on the low ceiling and laughs as everyone cheers for her. Ben feels even more left out because he knows she’s an amazing pitcher, but he doesn’t know that when Leslie Knope enters the room, you’re supposed to cheer.

Everyone goes back to their own conversation or games while Ben lingers in the chef space. He should probably stop drinking if he’s going to finish his essay when he gets home, but with Chris not here yet to be his social buffer, it sucks to not know where he fits.

“Wyatt,” Leslie says as she grabs a Jell-O shot from the table.

“Knope.”

She rolls her eyes as if saying her name is already enough of an annoyance. Whatever, she can think that, obviously he’s just some weird guy who is good at being shortstop and that’s the only reason he’s here. He’d leave but he drove to this dumb party and now he’s drunk and stuck. Like an idiot. 

She leaves to talk to April who is playing solitaire on Andy’s bed. He watches her point out the next move to April, catches April’s cold eyes break into something a little warmer as Leslie helps her. When Leslie looks at her, though, she turns cold again. Leslie asks her a question and April nods, rolling her shoulder. Leslie pats her arm and says something that makes April tap her forehead to Leslie’s and then they continue playing.

“Ben Wyatt!” 

“Chris!” Ben yells, wrapping his arms around him. Okay, maybe he’s more drunk now. 

“I love hugs!”

Ben stops drinking, which is probably a very good thing, and Chris helps weave him into the party. Ben beats Craig at Mortal Kombat which causes Craig to yell about how everything is unfair and he didn’t even get a new car for his birthday, but no one seems to have a strong reaction to that. It terrifies Ben. They eat pizza and April brings her deck of cards over to play poker with a few guys and no one really knows the real rules so no one wins. 

Ben finally has another drink, pouring himself a cup of vodka and orange juice, when three guys walk down the stairs. They aren’t on his team and they aren’t Andy’s brothers so Ben’s incredibly confused. They nod at him as if they know him but he just looks back at the party for answers.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Leslie asks, walking up to them as if they aren’t a whole foot taller than her.

“Came to see what Pawnee trash was recruited this year,” says the guy with the shaved head.

“Looks like the same sad sack of shits as last year,” another one says. He’s wearing a peacoat with gold buttons and some insane scarf. 

“What’s going on?” Ben asks Kelly.

“They’re on Eagleton’s team.”

Ben pretends to understand what that means and nods.

Leslie stares them down with a look he’s very familiar with.

“Get the hell out of here. Go pet your dumb horses and swim in your stupid hot springs and eat snails,” she says and Pawnee team laughs.

“Back off, Knope,” Shaved Head says.

“Get out, St. Claire.” She pushes him and he doesn’t move, but the three of them laugh.

Ben takes a step forward. They wouldn’t hit a girl, would they? No one else seems scared or worried for Leslie but those guys are so much bigger than her.

“The Pawnee Puppies, so sad,” Scarf says, “such a shitty team, has to have a girl pitch for them.”

“Excuse me?” Leslie yells.

“Leslie,” Kelly warns.

“Hey, hey.” Scarf puts up his hands. “No offense, Knope, but you’re a girl. There’s just no place for you on the field.”

Ben doesn’t remember telling himself to move but he is, in fact he’s moving very fast and in the direction of Scarf. He bumps into Leslie on his way and steps up to him.

“What did you just say?”

“I said your pitcher fucking sucks, man.”

Scarf jabs Ben in the chest with his finger. Ben pulls back and swings his clumsy fist right into Scarf’s nose.

The room gasps and Scarf falls back, his friends catching him before he can hit the floor. 

“Oh my God,” Leslie says.

“What the fuck?” Scarf says behind his hand. It comes away from his face bloody.

Ben’s hand hurts and he can’t move. “I”m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Let’s go,” St. Claire says as they try to scramble to the stairs.

“My nose!” Scarf wails.

The three of them awkwardly navigate the narrow, wooden staircase and when the door shuts at the top, everyone turns to Ben. 

“Oh my God,” Leslie says again.

“Are you okay?” Chris asks.

Leslie grabs Ben’s hand, the one he’s cradling because it’s throbbing and feels like it’s lost all feeling at the same time. He hisses and brings it back to his stomach, trying to shield it from more pain.

“Put ice on it, that’s his throwing hand,” Craig yells and Andy springs up the stairs, falling on the way up before going again.

“I’m sorry,” Ben looks around the room but no one looks angry.

Kelly gives him a thumbs up and Jean Ralphio and Tom look more scared than anything. April is smirking with her arms crossed behind Leslie. 

Leslie. For the first time since he’s met her, she’s not scowling at him or scrunching her nose, letting the fire rise behind her eyes. Instead, her jaw is loose and her eyes are wide and gentle, gleaming maybe because of the alcohol. He’s always thought she looked cute when she was angry, but this look, whatever it is, is stirring up something else in his gut.

“Here, Ben.”

Andy shoves a bag of frozen peas on Ben’s hand and the pain soars up his arm. He cringes and walks slowly over to Andy’s bed and sits, placing his red and throbbing hand on his lap. The peas go on top of his knuckles and he sighs.

It takes awhile for the party to get its groove back, but eventually the video games start again and people drink more liquor. Chris sits with Ben for awhile and Andy takes the peas and replaces it with a bag of frozen broccoli. Chris leaves to play a round of Knuckles and Leslie joins Ben on the bed. She doesn’t look at him, only at her own hands that are fidgeting in her lap. Being near her is nice, she still has that pull to her and this time it makes him feel included even though he’s on the outskirts of the party. 

“Thank you,” she says. It’s soft and so gentle and new. He likes it. 

The adrenaline is slowly leaving his system and now he feels the weightless churn of alcohol again. 

“He was being an asshole.”

Leslie’s hands stop moving for a beat before she rubs her palms on her thighs. 

“Yeah, well. He’s from Eagleton.”

“No one seems to like them.”

“They’re the worst. They’re snotty and rich buttheads.” Ben smiles. He’s not sure he’s heard the term buttheads since fifth grade.

Leslie stays there, quietly keeping him company while she plays with her fingers in her lap. Ben remembers the essay he’s supposed to be writing but he also wants another drink and he also, oddly enough, wants to snuggle into Leslie. He can smell vanilla from her hair and her hands look soft and he’s feeling sleepy.

“I’m sorry,” she says and Ben wakes up a bit. “I was being a jerk and I’m sorry.”

“I want to take a nap.”

She turns to him and smiles. “You’re drunk.”

He nods, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder. She tenses, he can feel it against his skull and see it in her hands. She smells so good. He apologizes and gets up, instantly missing the contact.

“I should go. I have an essay due tomorrow.”

“Me too!” Ben says as she stands. He closes his eyes and it feels nice, almost as nice as Leslie’s shoulder or frozen vegetables.

“Goodnight, Ben,” Leslie says and he feels her push on his shoulder, not too hard, but enough to send him back onto Andy’s bed. 

His head swims a little with the change in blood flow and balance but it’s not long until the sounds of the party are replaced with sleep.

\--

Within a day, an awful, headache filled day, the school knows Ben punched someone from Eagleton.

This, as it turns out, goes a long way at Pawnee Central.

It helps him find his footing at school, the weeks passing with a new popularity going Ben’s way. He feels good, walks the hallways with confidence, and girls flirt with him. It’s nice, much better than it ever was in Partridge.

Baseball practice is fun and brutal. Coach Swanson loves drills and doesn’t give a lot of room for breaks or downtime during the three hours of practice. Ben’s sore but the burn helps him get through homework and dinners and makes him sleep like a baby. 

The team is good, especially considering Tom and Jean Ralphio just fuck around in the outfield while Jeremy texts the whole time in left field. Craig yells at everyone to get their shit together and also how no one came to his party last weekend but the team actually functions as a whole quite well. Ben likes being a part of it, likes that he’s necessary and important to the group. 

The core is Leslie, of course it’s Leslie. Not only is she the best player on the team, but she keeps everyone going, even when she’s about to pass out from running the same tiring drills as the rest of them. Sometimes she’ll step out of the bullpen to calm down Craig or to say the right thing everyone needs to hear. 

But if you watch her close, like Ben often does, you’ll notice small signs of stress and worry lining her usually bright face. She’ll roll her shoulder after practice and she stretches her arm during lunch between bites of waffles. She’s been biting her nails more and pacing the bullpen while Andy and April feel eachother up. 

“Practice is over,” Ben says to Leslie, two weeks before their first game. He’s already showered and changed but Leslie is still on the mound, turning a ball in her hand as she stares down home plate. There’s a bucket of baseballs next to her and her pig tails are coming undone.

“I know.”

She brings the ball and her gloved hand to her chest, turning and positioning her feet. She goes through the motion of her throw without using her arms, keeping her hands steady at her chest. It’s slow, something calculating behind her eyes as she goes through the motion. Leslie looks down at her feet and positions them again, if the stance is any different, Ben doesn’t notice.

“You should probably rest, you’re going to overwork your arm.”

“I’m not using my arm.”

“I see that.” She goes through the motions again, her hands steady at her chest. “But you can’t even measure your balance right without using them.”

He doesn’t mean to correct her, or even pretend to know more than she does about pitching because that’s ludicrous. Ben takes a step back, positive he’s offended her, but she nods and takes her stance once more.

“Last one,” she says as if she needs his permission. He shrugs and she winds up and throws, her body beautiful and strong, somehow so much longer when she finally lets go of the ball. “Crap on a curve ball that was so slow.”

It didn’t look slow to Ben but he doesn’t say anything, just carries the bucket to home plate so they can pick up the balls. 

“Thanks,” she says after they finish. “You can go. I have to stretch anyway.”

“Can I help?” he asks. 

Her lips curve up and her cheeks round. She looks tired but so, so cute. Ben usually prefers tall brunettes, but lately tall brunettes are nothing compared to blonde volcanoes whose pitches he can’t hit. Who stays late at practice almost every day and is a hero among idiotic, teenage baseball players. Who runs to him with worry and pride after she ducks from a hit and he jumps to catch the ball, somehow throwing it to Chris before he falls onto the ground.

“There’s not much to help with but I’ll take the company.”

He follows her to the outfield. She grabs her phone out of her back pocket and Ben watches the sway of her hips in her grey baseball pants. Good Lord, he’s a perv. One of Ben’s exes used to tell him she loved how he looked in his baseball pants and he never understood it. Leslie helps him understand.

She stops and turns around, pressing her feet together and bending forward, resting her palms on the grass. Her shirt falls forward toward her head, revealing a pale slash of skin along her lower back. It’s smooth and there’s a sheen of sweat along the end of her spine. 

“Are you liking Pawnee?” she asks.

Ben quickly looks to the sky. “Um, it’s going really well actually.”

Leslie slowly rolls up. “Of course. Pawnee is the best city in the entire world. And the Pups are the best baseball team in the universe.”

“Right,” Ben smiles and she returns it. 

“Why’d you move here, anyway?” 

He tells her about his parents’ divorce. How he came with his mom to stay with Stephanie even though Ben’s sure he’s the only one who even gets along with his dad. Leslie nods as she winces through her next stretch, pulling her arm behind her head and leaning to the right. She holds it for a long time, stiff and sometimes letting out a strained breath. He asks if she’s okay and she nods. She does the same to the left.

“Okay, I could use your help.” 

Leslie motions him toward her and he walks up to her, hands up cluelessly. She grabs his bicep and pulls one of her feet to her butt with her other hand. He feels the imbalance in the tremble of her hand but she stays upright, only gripping him harder when she switches feet. He catches her eye a few times but they always look away when they connect, which makes Ben wonder if she feels that hot slosh in her stomach as well.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ben clears his throat and Leslie sits down on the grass, falling onto her back and hugging her knees to her chest. 

“You can try these, too,” she suggests.

“I can’t even touch my toes.”

She laughs and unwraps an arm from her knees to pat the grass beside her. Ben sits and copies her but it all hurts and he feels way too stiff for this. He tells her this is hard and she laughs again, a big cackle that explodes across the field. He turns his head to look at her and she smiles at him, her body rolled up in a little ball and her face soft in the aftermath of a smile.

Oh good Lord, his dad may have been right about more than Ben making the team.

Leslie helps guide Ben through some more stretches on the ground that he barely can do. He never thought about his flexibility before, but Leslie is going through the stretches, not with ease, but with a stronger threshold than him. She holds hers longer, presses herself further. As usual, anything she does on this field is impressive.

Leslie’s doing a stretch for her rotator cuff, laying on her side facing him as she bends back her arm. Ben’s maxed on stretching so he stays on his back, head turned toward her. He watches her press her arm toward the ground and wince, then go a bit farther and hold it. She closes her eyes and breathes, her mouth pursed, eyebrows knotted together. He wants to ask if she’s okay, that maybe she’s stretching too far but he doesn’t know her body, doesn’t know it’s limits. 

He bets she doesn’t have any.

When she releases, she groans, falling limp. She rolls to her back and stares at the sky. Ben does the same. He tries not to think about her chest rising and falling next to him, the soft breeze making strands of hair cross her face, or the closeness of her hand in proximity to his. Baseball used to be his go to, to avoid awkward boners or to make sex with his ex girlfriend last a little longer. He’s not sure baseball will work anymore.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

Ben turns his head to her. She’s softly lit by the disappearing light of the sun. He blinks a few times to let his eyes adjust and focus in the dusk. The grass is crunchy in his ear as he watches her eyes take in the sky, her lip pull into her mouth by her teeth.

“Of what?”

She takes a big breath that rounds her stomach and inflates her chest before falling back into her body. “The game against Eagleton. College.”

He’s never seen her afraid of anything. He’s watched her yell at Coach Swanson and stand up to three big baseball players. She’s small, but never scared.

“You’re a great pitcher, Leslie.” She turns her head to him and her smile is a weak one. That’s a word he would also never use for Leslie Knope: weak. “I can’t even hit off of you.”

Her smile grows. “That’s true.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he does the same. She closes her eyes as a gust of wind travels over them. She keeps them closed as she continues.

“Colleges won’t take me. Not for baseball.”

“Why?”

She opens her eyes and shrugs. “I’m a girl.”

“There’s softball--”

“I don’t pitch that way and--no, sorry. I don’t know why--sorry.”

She sits up and rubs her face before standing. She apologizes again and walks to the dugout for her things. Ben follows, trying to get her to stop but she keeps moving. He grabs her hand as she slings her bag over her shoulder. It’s almost as big as she is. 

“They’ll see you play. They’ll know.” Ben feels odd convincing her. He’s positive he’s heard her tell people that she will be the first woman pitcher in MLB history.

Leslie’s eyes are glossed and she blinks a few times before she says anything. 

“Do you like ice cream?” she asks.

Ben realizes he’s still holding her hand and lets go. “Yeah.”

She swallows and forces a smile. “It sounds like I could use some.”

Ben nods. “Yes, it does.”

Leslie has chocolate on her chin for most of the evening and he finally gets the courage to wipe it away while she’s laughing at his peed-his-pants-during-a-t-ball-game story. It was a good time to do it; she doesn’t flinch at his thumb on her skin, and when he licks the chocolate from his finger, she just watches his mouth before quickly looking away. Her cheeks turn that really cute shade of pink. 

“Thank you,” she says. He’s not sure if she’s talking about the chocolate or helping her stretch or listening to her talk about college. 

“Anytime,” he says. For all of it.

\--

The school is buzzing and alive the day of the Eagleton game. There’s posters on the wall with such lovely slogans as, “Suck it Eagleton!”. Ben felt some new surge of pride well up in his chest when he put his jersey on this morning. Leslie rallied and fundraised for them to be able to get their names on them this year and Ben actually turns in the mirror to see the WYATT across his back above the number nine. They’re playing at Eagleton so the jersey is white with red lettering, the word Pawnee in classic cursive baseball writing across the front. He hasn’t worn his Puppies hat yet, saving it for today, and he waits until he walks into the school to pluck it on his head.

He gets slapped on the back and patted on the shoulder, jocks from other sports teams telling him to “Give it to those fucking Jaguars, Wyatt!” and others just telling him good luck. Lots of girls are telling him this and it feels good, makes him stand a little straighter.

Ben tries to forget the anxious swarm of butterflies as he goes through a quiz in trig and when the bell rings for lunch, he’s a rubber band ready to snap. He buys an apple from the cafeteria, hoping he can at least eat some of it, before walking down to the baseball field.

Since the night Leslie confessed her fears and taught Ben to stretch, he’s met her there every day after practice. He’s come to like the field, finally recognizing it as his home base and actually takes delight in the raccoons that sometimes cross the field and the spray paint on top of the dugouts. 

He doesn’t expect her to be there, they’ve never met at lunch time before, but when he spots her, he walks faster. He throws his half eaten apple in a garbage can and makes his way across the outfield.

Leslie is on the pitcher’s mound, facing home plate. Ben’s sure there is no better place for her, she looks so perfect there, as if the field was built around her. He watches her roll her shoulders, the KNOPE and 19 crinkling across her back. Her hat is clasped on a belt loop of her jeans on her hip, her hair wild in the breeze.

“Hey,” Ben says as he comes up to the mound. Leslie doesn’t jump or move but she whispers her own greeting. “Is it okay that I’m here?”

She looks at him then, golden hair swept across her cheeks and eyes roaming over him. She shrugs and smiles. “You make a good Puppy.”

“Thank you,” he says, “but you know there was a time when you said no one wanted me to be one.”

“Well that was when you were delusional and didn’t understand what made Li’l Sebastian so special.”

Yeah, he may have lied about that a few nights ago.

“Yep, I totally get it now,” he says, shifting his gaze to the ground.

“You don’t happen to have a glove do you?” Leslie asks. Ben shakes his head. “Yeah I left mine in the locker room.”

So did Ben, all his stuff is ready to go to Eagleton right after school. 

Leslie brings her right hand in front of her, holding a baseball. “We could play catch, no gloves?”

Ben’s eyes widen and he take a step back. “I’m not catching anything you throw without a glove.”

Leslie’s head tips forward and she lets out a quiet laugh, looking at him from beneath her hair. “I’ll be nice.”

“Okay.”

They throw and it reminds him of the nights they’ve spent together, doing just this but with gloves, stretching, talking. Leslie does throw a lot softer, her usual throws stinging his palms after a half hour of back and forth. They don’t talk this time, even though they’re much closer, the only sound is the slapping of leather to palms and the breeze across his ears.

When the bell rings, he holds onto the ball and takes a step toward the school.

“Wait,” Leslie calls. Ben turns back to her, heart jumping a little. “Skip.”

Ben’s eyes widen because if there’s a few things he knows about Leslie Knope (and he’s learned quite a few lately), one of them is that she definitely never skips class. They’re also not supposed to skip on the day of a game, they could be cut from it.

“We have to go, we could be cut.”

“Just” -- Leslie bounces a little on her toes -- “just one pitch before we go. We’ll only be late.”

Again, just the idea of her being late, and being so casual about it, is startling.

Ben throws the ball to her and walks with her to the mound. He stands back and watches her place her feet and align her shoulders, find her balance. She doesn’t take too long, obviously the idea of being late is starting to bother her, and she winds back and launches forward, hair flying, leg up in the air. The ball whizzes down the line, smacking against the wood of the backstop, echoing into the field. 

Leslie straightens up and pushes her hair from her face before looking at Ben.

“Race ya to class.”

Then she’s off and Ben’s yelling that she is cheating and that this is stupid, what are they, five years old? But he’s also laughing because she trips on a Paunch Burger cup in the parking lot and tries to throw over a trash can to block him but it’s bolted to the ground. Leslie runs up the stairs and Ben has the advantage of longer legs and takes them two at a time, passing her at the top. She grabs his arm and tries to pull him back and he stops, breathing hard.

“Your arm, be careful! Don’t pull!” he says.

Leslie blinks and looks at her hands clasped over his arm. She’s trying to catch her breath but something in the slope of her eyebrows makes him wonder if he hurt her feelings. He didn’t mean to yell at her, he was just worried she’d pull out her shoulder or some other random disaster.

“Sorry, Leslie, I just didn’t want you to hurt your arm.”

“No, no, you’re right.” She says, letting go of him. He almost reaches for her, feels the tingle in his hand to reach out, but he stops himself. 

“Wouldn’t want to hurt the pitcher before the big game.” He tries to lighten the mood, shake his shoulders and smile extra big for her.

She nods and looks at him. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Leslie, I’m sorry, this is weird, I didn’t--”

“No, really Ben, I’m being weird.”

They laugh; it’s awkward and the air that cycles through his tired lungs is charged and tense. She shuffles her feet a little and looks down the hall past Ben. The bell rings and they both jump.

“Well, we’re late.”

“Looks like it.” Ben rocks on his feet. “I guess we should go.”

“Yeah.”

They don’t. Leslie rubs a hand up her pitching arm and holds onto her shoulder while looking at Ben. The clogged air between them grows denser and all Ben wants to do is push it away, break the distance between them and put the pieces back together. It’s just awkward, no damage is done, but now something else is unspooling in his chest. His fingers itch to touch her, as if it could break this, as if he can show her that it’s fine, please touch him, just don’t throw out your shoulder because they’re flirting in the hallway. 

He moves, pushes through whatever’s between them, whatever is behind Leslie’s big eyes and her shifting feet, and places his hand on top of hers on her shoulder. He rubs his thumb over her fingers and takes another step closer.

“Will you ever pitch again?” he asks dramatically.

Leslie drops her head and laughs, quiet but full bodied. Ben feels his shoulders lift and weight fly away from his back.

“It’s hard to tell, I’ll have to get it examined.” 

Ben takes his other hand and moves hers away, squeezing and “examining” her shoulder. It’s hard and there’s muscle in her bicep that he definitely doesn’t have, but her skin, the little bit of skin he touches along the collar of her jersey, is incredibly soft. She flutters her eyes closed and Ben takes the last step to bring their bodies flush.

“Wyatt! Knope!” 

Leslie and Ben spring apart, Ben’s heart in his throat. He coughs, catching a scratch in his throat that makes it impossible for him to stop. 

“Get to class,” Coach Swanson yells. “If I have to cut either of you from the game for attendance, I--”

“We’re going,” they say at the same time. Leslie runs down the hall and Ben goes toward the science building across the quad.

“Where were you?” Andy whispers as Ben sits down next to him at their lab table.

“With Leslie.”

“Ah fuck, really? Now I owe April five bucks.”

Ben bites his smile. He forgot his text book but it’s hard to care.

\--

Eagleton’s baseball field is ridiculous.

Tom and Jean Ralphio are fanboying over the luxury dug outs and the advertisements all over the back fence. There’s no graffiti anywhere and the temperature is a beautiful 70 degrees even though it’s March. They have Fiji water bottles stacked in the dugout and equipment that Ben may not even see again in his lifetime, even if he goes on to play college ball.

Ben finds a few signs in the bleachers with his name on it so word must have gotten out at Eagleton about him punching that Scarf guy. He sees his mom and sister in the crowd as well, and waves. Leslie starts stretching in the bullpen with April and Coach Swanson while the rest of them throw to each other in the outfield. There’s a nervous energy clinging to everyone, Pawnee and Eagleton, and Ben tries to shake it with every toss to Chris. 

In the dugout, Leslie gathers everyone together and Ben is stuck behind Andy. Ben peeks between his head and Jean Ralphio’s hair to watch her.

“We did it Puppies!” she says. Everyone claps and yells. April and Andy kiss. “I say we did it because we came this far. We became a team. Some of us are old friends, old teammates, and some of us found a home here.” She looks at Ben and he smiles. “But now look at us, we are one amazing, hardworking, talented group of players who formed the best friggin’ team in Indiana, maybe America, possibly the world.”

Everyone cheers again and Ben joins in this time because he’s been here long enough to know, when Leslie Knope enters a room, when she talks to a group of ragtag baseball players, when she takes the mound, you celebrate.

“I’m so proud of each and every one of you. Willie Mays said, ‘Without one-hundred percent dedication, you won't be able to do this.’ Well, I’m one-hundred percent sure you’re all dedicated enough to beat the shit out of those fucking Jaguars!” 

The dugout erupts and Leslie throws her fists into the air. Ben’s blood sizzles and he’s high fiving Chris and Kelly, avoiding April and Andy who are sprawled out on the bench. They go out on to the field for the National Anthem, sung by a girl named Ingrid from Eagleton. When she steps onto the podium, Ben catches Leslie watching him. He smiles and waves at her and Leslie lights up, waving back before placing her hat over her heart.

It isn’t until Ben goes up to bat that he notices Scarf is the pitcher. Ben curses as he puts on his batting glove and rotates the bat in his wrist as he walks to the plate. He’s fucked. If he doesn’t get shitty pitches, then he’s getting hit. A hit would at least get him on base but knowing Scarf and the evident hatred for Ben he’s cultivated in his school, he’s thinking it might be an injury he can’t get up from.

The ball doesn’t make contact with Ben, in fact he strikes out. The crowd loves that. Ben doesn’t have time to mope; he’s the third out and it’s time to get on the field.

The bottom of the first inning isn’t uneventful or boring, but nothing happens. Leslie strikes out the first three batters and they switch. Pawnee’s side of the bleachers goes insane and Leslie pumps her arm into her side, smiling. Ben rubs her hat over her head in the dugout.

“Dont’ say it,” she says.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

But that’s how the innings go. Ben does get on base at some point, all the way to second before Andy hits a homerun and they all hug at home plate. There are a couple close calls, pop flies that Jeremy catches and a grounder that goes to Ben with plenty of time for him to throw it to Chris for an out, but each time Leslie takes the mound, no one makes it on base. The crowd is tense and everyone is thinking it, especially after the 7th inning stretch, but no one dares mention what could be happening.

Ben can see Leslie’s nerves start to work at her hands. She’s kneading them together between stretches and her nails are getting shorter through the game. In the dugout, while Tom is up to bat, Ben takes Leslie’s hand away from her mouth.

“State is here,” she blurts. Her eyes get big and she looks away from him.

“Scouts from State are here?” Ben clarifies. She nods. “Leslie! That’s amazing.”

“Maybe.”

It’s unspoken right now, like it should be, but Leslie has to be proud of this game no matter what may or may not happen. He tells her so. He tells her that State is already impressed with her. She nods and takes a deep breath -- or rather, her version of a deep breath. 

Tom’s pop fly gets caught and they’re back on the field. The crowd is chanting her name, even some of Eagleton is curious to see if she can do it. Ben knows she can. He refuses to say she will, though. Superstitions are a bitch.

When the third guy goes up to bat, Leslie rolls her shoulder. She’s tired. She stretches her neck and bends down to watch Andy’s options and when she decides she stands, small and strong. Ben holds his breath, watches her tiny, perfect body fly forward with the momentum of her throw and the batter doesn’t even try to hit it. Strike three.

Ben puts his hands on his head, jaw wide open. Another inning gone and no one form Eagleton has gotten on base. They’re only ahead by three but it feels like they’re up by 100.

As soon as they get into the dugout, Leslie finds Ben. She holds onto his shoulders and stares at him, intense and big eyes locked on his, her mouth clamped shut. He nods and grabs her head, pushing their foreheads together before breaking apart. The whole team is energized and in a frenzy, nervous and excited, adrenaline ridden junkies who can’t stop jonesing for the next fix. 

Ben gets a solid hit and Eagleton can’t get the ball in fast enough, letting Ben get all the way to third. He looks back at the dugout but Leslie is sitting with her face in her hands. Ben begs Andy to get a nice hit so he can run home and help Leslie. Her arm must be sore, maybe she’s worried she won’t be able to finish. He considers stealing home. 

Yeah, Wyatt, just steal home.

Ben’s not the fast, but apparently he’s not the smart either. He inches down the third base line and watches St. Claire. Coach Swanson asks what he’s doing but Ben ignores him, which is just one more dumb thing to add to the list. He’ll go if the catcher misses but not otherwise. He doesn’t have a distraction on first to help him so he can’t go unless that happens.

On Scarf’s second pitch, it happens. Ben yells, “Fuck!” and runs down the baseline and throws himself, face first over home plate. There’s a tap on his foot but the crowd is too loud for Ben to hear if he’s safe. The wind is knocked out of him and he can’t breathe as he turns over on his back. 

He’s safe.

Andy helps him up and Ben stands on wobbly legs, trying to remember to breathe. He finally gets air again as he walks into the dug out and Leslie runs to him and dusts off his shirt. 

“Are you insane?”

ChrIs pats Ben on the back while Tom and Jean Ralphio sing a made up chorus of a song where the only lyric is ‘shorty shot.’

“Are you okay?”

Leslie looks around the dugout and back at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You looked upset.”

“So you stole home plate?”

Ben shrugs. “Yeah.”

Leslie grabs the front of Ben’s filthy jersey just as Andy strikes out and everyone pushes past them to get back onto the field.

“Bottom of the ninth, Knope,” Ben says.

Ben knows Eagleton’s only strategy now is to prevent it. They want to hit anything. It’s clear from the first batter, who swings at everything Leslie gives him. They’re all too wide or too high, and if Ben can guess what Coach Swanson calls a timeout to talk to Leslie for, it’s to keep throwing balls. 

She does for the next guy and everyone on the field jumps when he leaves the box, throwing his bat at the backstop. Leslie bends over and breaths as the next batter comes to the plate. Of course it’s Scarf. Life can have a bit of cinematic drama, too, not just the movies.

Leslie looks back at Ben and mouths something to him. Ben shakes his head, leaning forward. She puts her hand out as if to tell him to stay there so he does.

“Knope, Knope, Knope!” the crowd chants. Scarf takes a deeper step into the box and she rolls her neck. She goes through a few things with Andy before sitting back up to throw.

Wide, but Scarf swings. Andy retrieves the ball and throws it back. Leslie jumps on her toes, turns around to Ben and he gives her a thumbs up. It makes her smile, that smile she reserves for when he quotes Star Wars or compares her to the Black Widow.

Scarf lets the next one go, a definite ball. He points his bat at Leslie and swings it low before propping it up again. Scarf yells something and Leslie holds her head higher and Ben’s sure he can see the tight grip she has on the baseball from his spot. 

Leslie doesn’t wait for Andy and springs back and throws, sending the ball straight down the middle. He thinks NASA could hear the snap of the ball in Andy’s glove from space.

Two strikes, one ball.

When Leslie turns to Ben again, she’s smiling, her chin is high and her shoulders are loose and good Lord, he feels her Death Star beams pulling him in. She tips her hat up a little so he can see more of her face and she points to him. He’s a little confused so he points to himself to clarify and she nods. Her hand goes up again and he makes out what she mouths this time. 

Don’t move.

She turns back around and gives herself time to get her body ready in the most perfect, by the book stance he’s ever seen. It’s like he can hear the check marks going off in her head. Her small body looks so long as she extends back and her arm flies forward, leg propping up behind her. Her hat flies off and she stumbles forward.

Scarf swings. He misses.

Leslie falls to her knees and a swarm of Puppies run and grab her, hoisting her up over their heads. April runs from the dug out and… she might be crying? Somehow, through the crowds eruptions and Leslie being tossed from one shoulder to the next, he remembers her instructions. He doesn’t move, only drops his glove and takes off his hat and claps, but he stays put, right in his favorite spot between third and second base.

Leslie taps Chris on the head and he lets her down just as Coach Swanson messes up Leslie’s hair. She hugs him and he reluctantly gives her a few pats on the back but his mustache is curved up, smiling.

She steps away from him and turns to Ben. His heart beats like it’s an engine, all vibrations and pumps that roar through his chest, sending hot blood through his veins. She smiles, her hair flat on her head and coming out from her low ponytail and God, he’s never seen something so beautiful.

Leslie runs toward him and he stops breathing, bracing himself for whatever awaits him. When she’s a few steps away, she takes a leap and crashes into his body, wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist.

And she’s kissing him.

His balance is off but he keeps them upright, stumbling backwards. She’s warm around his body, so small and powerful. He keeps an arm around her waist and sneaks the other to her neck. It’s slick with sweat and her hair is damp and her lips -- her lips are soft and pliable under his. 

He opens her mouth and their tongues slide. It’s hard for Ben to stay up on his shaking legs but if it means that this won’t end, he’ll do it. He’ll stand for a million years if it means he can feel her legs clench around his waist, her body pressed against his, and her mouth open, sweet, and needy. 

She pulls away and he holds onto the back of her neck, pushing her back to him. They kiss again, this time with more teeth and less lips, dizzy in each other, lost in smiles and laughs.

Leslie slowly unwraps her legs from him and he places her down on the dirt, their lips peppering kisses on the way down. She laughs and drops the kiss but Ben growls and clutches the sides of her jersey before sneaking his head down to capture her lips again. She giggles and he nips at her bottom lip and everything is on fire, everything is fireworks and home runs and the vibration of the bat making contact with the ball. Everything is perfect.

Ben keeps kissing her, leaving light pecks between words. “State is going to want to talk to you.”

“Maybe not after this public display of affection.”

He snuggles down into her neck and grips her tight around the middle and she clings to him. They hug, softly swaying, Ben’s lips finding salty skin on her neck.

“That was amazing,” he says, “you’re amazing.”

Leslie pulls back and looks up at him, her blue eyes so soft, so unlike the ones he would see when he closed his eyes before bed, before he ever knew who she really was. An amazing pitcher, an inspiring light, the strongest, most powerful person on this field.

“You stole home for me,” she says, finally pulling from his embrace. He groans at the loss of contact, but he smiles.

“I’d steal all the bases for you, Leslie Knope.”

\--

Everyone, dirty and smelly from the game, piles into JJ’s to celebrate. Leslie’s late, she told Ben she’d get a ride from her mom after she talked to the recruiters from State. So he drove alone to JJ’s with a dumb smile on his face. Everyone congratulates him on stealing home and buys him piles of fries and milkshakes. He laughs when everyone talks shit on Scarf (a guy named Peterson), and he looks down at his overflowing plate of fries, smiling, when anyone mentions how amazing Leslie pitched.

She walks in when someone buys Ben another milkshake. She’s still ruffled up a bit from the game, her jersey untucked and hat hooked onto her belt loop. The whole restaurant cheers for her and the Puppies stand up, a clapping sea of red and white. JJ puts a plate of waffles on the table that is almost as tall as she is and she laughs, hugging him.

Leslie grabs a waffle in her hand and takes a huge bite, whipped cream spreading over her face. The team goes back to their conversation about how much Eagleton sucks, and Ben watches Leslie walk over and plop down in the chair next to him.

“Hi,” she says, wiping her lips.

“Hi.”

They smile at each other until April yells to get a room.

Ben pulls out his phone and types before putting it below the table, over Leslie’s lap. She looks down after taking another bite of waffle.

“Absolutely,” she says.

But he has to wait. His stomach is scrambling and swirling and he’s having a hard time finishing his fries and milkshakes but Leslie helps. She confesses she hasn’t eaten in the last two days and now she’s making up for lost time. She leans against Ben when she’s done, full and content. He traces baseball diamonds on her thigh.

Some of the team are going to Andy’s to get high or drunk. The table starts to thin out and Leslie begs JJ to let her help clean up. It is a disaster zone, but JJ assures her he and the staff can handle it. Ben grabs her hand and tugs her toward the door.

In the car, Leslie tells Ben about the recruiters, how they were impressed by her skills and wanted to talk with her further about the possibility of going to State. He squeezes her hand as she talks. Her mom wants her to hold out for other schools to see who gives her the best offer but Leslie doesn’t want to go that far away for college anyway. 

“Besides,” she says, “it won’t matter that much, I’ll still get to be the first female pitcher in MLB history.” 

Ben kisses her hand.

“Hey Steph, this is Leslie,” Ben says to his sister as they walk into the living room. She’s busy coloring at the coffee table.

“Hi,” she says. “You were very good.”

“Thank you,” Leslie says. She beams at Ben.

“Where’s mom?”

“In her room getting ready for that art show thing.”

His mom is in a rush, tearing through the housewhen she finally comes out of her room. Introductions are short but cordial as she runs out the door. Leslie looks at Ben, her mouth scrunched, trying to stop her wicked smile. Ben tugs on her hat hanging on her hip.

“So, Steph, Leslie and I are going to go hang out in my room for a little while, do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Ben says, leading Leslie upstairs. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You can go make out with your girlfriend now.”

Leslie giggles and pushes Ben up the stairs.

Ben looks at himself in the mirror in the corner of his room. He’s a mess. His whole front, from his face to his pants, is covered in dirt. His hair looks flat and greasy when he takes his hat off so he quickly puts it back on while Leslie looks around his room. At least his room is clean, the posters and action figures might be embarrassing, but it's clean.

Ben slips off his tennis shoes and hopes he doesn’t smell. He tries to check but Leslie keeps looking at him when she finds something else interesting or embarrassing in his room.

“I like it,” she finally says. “It’s very you.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben asks, slipping a hand around her waist and pulling her to him.

“Very focused and organized. A little nerdy.” She scrunches her nose and smiles with the last line.

“Hey.”

Leslie laughs as Ben buries his face in her neck. He kisses her with loud, obnoxious kisses that make her giggle. He loves the sound, loves how it fills up his room and brings something new to it. So he tickles her sides and she becomes a squirming mess of limbs and laughs.

Leslie holds on tight to his arms and moves her mouth up to capture his, covering her screams and his maniacal laughter. His hands stop moving as she parts their lips and pulls on his jersey to bring him closer. 

His hands remember to move again, gripping her waist and rounding over her hips. He grips her ass and she moans, sending vibrations down his throat all the way to his dick.

Oh. That’s uncomfortable.

He pulls away and Leslie’s eyes look glazed over like she’s just been riding the teacups. 

“Sorry, um, can you turn around so I can change?”

“What? Why? I love your butt in these pants.” Leslie pinches his ass and Ben jumps, his hat falling off.

“Um.” Ben puts his hands on his hips before gesturing to his crotch. “I’m wearing a cup still?”

“Oh. Oh!” Leslie backs away and turns around, flailing her hands for him to do what he needs to do. He undoes his belt and holds onto the waistband of his pants, the strap, and his underwear when she turns around. “Actually,” she says, “just take them off. I’ll make it even.” 

Before he can suggest anything else, or even pretend to act like he’d protest this, Leslie’s pants are off, her underwear joining them. Her jersey is long, but it’s not covering up everything. She steps out of her pants and slides them across the room leaving her in just her jersey and knee high baseball socks.

“Good Lord.”

She’s perfect. Adorable, sexy, dirty, sweaty, messy haired perfection. He’s not cool enough for this, he’s definitely never seen anything as great.as this, and he doesn’t remember what he’s doing.

“Do you need help?” Leslie asks, walking toward him. 

“No!” Cups and straps are so weird and awkward, he doesn’t want her near it. “I mean, no it’s okay. I got it.”

Now he’s really worried how it might smell in here. He’s going to ruin this but he tells her to hold on and grabs one of those really fruity smelling candles from the hall closet and lights it in his room.

“Aw, romantic.” Leslie smiles.

Yes, that’s it.

He pulls everything down then, upset that he’s barely half hard now, but maybe it won’t matter. It seems like Leslie isn’t new to this.

Leslie laughs and he lets out one of his own. 

“We look great,” she says.

“Yes, a regular pair of all stars.” She bites her lip as Ben slides his clothes over to her pile with his foot. “Come here.”

Leslie slinks up to him and pulls on his dirty shirt, pulling him down to her lips. He sighs into her, quickly opening her mouth for his tongue, sliding hands over her hips and her stomach, up to her breasts and into her hair. He pulls the hair tie from her hair and sinks both hands into the blonde mess. She lets her head fall back and he trails kisses along her throat and she moans, holding onto his shirt for balance. 

Ben nudges the collar of her jersey with his nose and kisses the new skin. She slides her hands to his bare ass and she groans pulling him closer, as if there was any more space between them. He hisses and bites down on her collarbone.

Ben sneaks his hands down her jersey, unbuttoning as he goes down over her chest, her stomach. He slides it off and continues with her tank top underneath, sending it over her head.

He stares at her, traces a finger over the muscles in her arms. If he didn’t want -- need -- her so much, he’d be self conscious of his own weak arms. He takes her right hand and kisses her palm, her wrist, up the inside of her forearm and all around her bicep and shoulder. She smells like sweat and sunscreen, the red dirt from Eagleton, and the crisp new material of her jersey. She tastes sweet and salty.

Ben wants to tell her she’s sexy, or cute, or powerful, strong. All those words describe her but he can’t get them out. Instead he palms her breasts over her red sports bra and kisses her until her calves hit the side of his bed. She falls down on her ass and reaches out for the buttons on his jersey and he lets her unbutton it before he reaches for the bottom of her bra. It clings to her skin and she raises her arms for him to slide it off, careful not to hit her face or catch her nose. She giggles and he pumps his fist when it finally comes off, tossing behind him. 

Leslie, naked except for her red socks, looks up at him from his bed. He doesn’t deserve this, but he’s not going to question it, not right now. Not when a cute girl, who just pitched a no hitter, is sitting on his bed and looking at him like he deserves every part of her exposed skin and worthy enough to touch her collarbone, like he’s good enough to drop to his knees and take each breast in his mouth and bite and suck his way across her torso. Like he can make her squirm and moan, like his name was meant to fall from her lips between breaths. 

Ben gives her a gentle push back onto the bed and she falls on her back with a light bounce. He leans over her stomach, peppering wet kisses down over her belly button and across her hips. He traces her, just enough to make her sigh and he can already feel how wet she is.

“Ben,” Leslie says, “no, I mean, not right now, I haven’t showered.”

“Okay.” He continues to kiss her hips, licks her thighs.

“I want this, I like this, a lot, but--”

Ben kisses the crease of her thigh and she moans.

“I just played a game--”

“I know I was there.” Ben kisses the other crease.

“So I’m all dirty and sweaty.”

Ben moans, pulling her closer. He widens her legs and feels her, spreads her open, gleaming and pink and so pretty.

“Ben! Really, I just played a game--”

“Leslie, I know, you pitched a no hitter, you were amazing.”

She smiles down at him and he smirks, pushing a finger into her before placing his lips just above it.

Leslie lets out a shaky breath and he feels her body tense. She’s worried she smells bad or tastes awful but it’s exactly the opposite. Maybe it’s the rush of the game, or how incredible she feels, how incredible she is, but nothing is stopping him from this. He moves his finger, slow and steady, and licks up and down her cunt like he’s starved. She jerks and slaps her hands over her mouth, stomach rising and falling with each breath. She’s wet and his tongue is sloppy and everything mixes together harmoniously. Ben puts her socked legs on his shoulders and he’s just enough of a pervert to wish someone was here to take a picture of his name and number between her legs.

He doesn’t come up for air for so long, engrossed in the way she shakes and screams behind her hands. She’s dripping and tangy and sweet and he can’t imagine ever being anywhere else but right here. But she’s not climbing, it doesn’t feel like she ever gets close. It’s not hard to figure out she’s enjoying herself but he wants to make her come undone.

Leslie hits the mattress with her fist as he pulls away from her. He smiles and pets her, sliding his fingers between her lips and over her clit. She sighs and relaxes under his touch, her legs trembling.

“You okay?” Ben asks. 

“Uh huh,” Leslie says, arching her back. 

Ben sits up higher and slides his hand up to her breasts, tracing the curve of one with a light touch before moving onto the other. Goosebumps rise on her skin and her breathing speeds. The muscles in her arms clench and she grips his blankets. He leans down and bites her thigh and she yelps, his fingers quickly sliding over her clit.

His name drips from her lips and she’s bucking into his hand and yes, this is what he wants. He slides his fingers down, tracing her opening before going back to her clit, moving faster and faster. She gasps and thrashes, covering her mouth again. Ben tries to stand as carefully as he can, not interrupting his rhythm, and leans over her, kissing her lips. He takes her moans into his mouth, captures every mumbled, “Ben,” that escapes, and when she cums, he lets her pull his hair and scream against his lips.

Ben kisses her face and throat, stroking her with soft fingers as she shakes. She grabs his hand and pushes him away and he laughs into her hair. Leslie blinks at him as if she’s waking up from a dream and looks down at his chest.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Well, well,” Ben says, standing up, “you throw one no hitter and suddenly you can start making demands.” 

Leslie pushes his leg with her foot and Ben shrugs off his shirt and throws his undershirt over his head. Yeah, he doesn’t smell great.

He wonders if he has a stick of deodorant in his room but Leslie sits up and grabs his hand before he can walk away.

“Do you have a condom?”

Could he marry her? Is it too soon?

“Uh” -- Ben clears his throat and Leslie smiles at him, eyes dark and beautiful -- “yeah.”

“Well buddy, it’s time to steal home.” She smiles and circles her left arm, pointing with her right as if she’s a third base coach telling him to go all the way.

_Don’t say you love her, don’t say you love her, don’t say you love her._

Ben grabs a condom and rolls it on with shaky hands. He comes back to the bed and Leslie’s moved under the covers. Did she change her mind?

 

“I was cold.”

Ben flips the covers up at the foot of the bed and crawls over her as the blanket falls around them. He kisses her breasts, relishes in the sighs, and her nails in his back. He slips his hand down to her thighs and pushes them open farther, lines her to make sure she’s still wet. She is, good Lord she is.

Leslie adjust her hips and Ben looks between them, gripping his dick in one hand, trying to guide him to her. His forehead is on her chin and she’s rubbing a hand through his hair, raking her nails down the nape of his neck. He shivers.

He feels her first, warm and slick and wanting. He takes a breath and tries to think of baseball but, as he guessed, it gets him nowhere with her. Ben moves his hand to her hair and kisses her nose, then her lips. He stays still, trying not to rock his hips forward, trying not to push into her quite yet.

“Have you done this before?” he asks.

“Yes, with my ex. You?”

“Same.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They smile at each other, Leslie’s hands sliding down to his waist. She clings to him and rocks her hips up just a little, just enough, and he meets her the rest of the way.

Leslie sucks in a breath as Ben lets one out. Her hips move and Ben rocks with her, moaning against her mouth.

“You okay?”

“I just pitched” -- she moans, meeting the thrust of his hips again -- “a no hitter” -- Ben speeds up and her nails dig into his shoulder -- “and I’m having sex with the shortstop. I’m doing fantastic.”

Ben groans, burying his face in her neck, pushing deeper, moving faster. “You did,” he breathes. “You’re amazing.”

She lets out a long, high moan and he slows, warning her to be quiet. The last thing he needs to do is give Stephanie weird nightmares. She motions zipping her lips closed and Ben moves again, Leslie’s face scrunching and screams muffling behind her closed lips. 

He smirks against her throat. “You’re so sexy when you’re up there.”

Leslie lets out a breath and whispers, “Oh my God.”

“What?” he asks playfully. This is good, this helps distract him from the feeling of her surrounding him, squeezing and wet and warm. He’s never talked much during sex before but this, this is kind of great. “You are. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Leslie cries out, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. Ben whispers a woah and she smiles, leaning her head back and thrusting up with his rhythm. She pushes on his shoulder and Ben tells her she feels incredible.

“Oh my God, sit up, sit up.”

Ben does as she says, sitting up on his knees, her legs tight on his thighs. She pulls him by the heels of her feet and he gets the hint, fucking her again. Her hand goes straight to her clit and Ben growls, moving faster, holding onto her thighs.

“You’re so sexy, Leslie.”

She’s breathing and moaning and she’s probably too loud but he’s already preoccupied with trying not to cum too fast and watching the strongest, most beautiful sight he’s ever seen on a baseball diamond touch herself.

He doesn’t have much left in him, no matter how many times he tries to recall the Twins’ batting averages. He’s sweating and trembling and the heat is pushing into his stomach, out to his legs, his arms. She’s climbing, clenching around him and making sounds and watching him fuck her and he doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

“Ben.”

“Leslie, please, I… ah fuck.”

He moves faster, pushes deeper and he knows that will get him over the edge way too soon but it’s like he can’t even think rationally anymore. Leslie responds gloriously, her hand working faster and her breaths quick until she covers her mouth and screams.

One more thrust and he’s done, his body rigid and relaxed all in one breath, curse words falling from his mouth as if they’re the only things left in his brain. Leslie is whimpering when he falls forward, burying his face in her hair. She’s pulsing around him and it makes him shake and grip her hair. Her hands rub up and down his back and Ben just wants to live inside her, wrapped around her, engulfed in her.

He also really wants to sleep; that urge has come on very suddenly.

Ben rolls off of her and closes his eyes, rubbing his face into the pillow. He draws her name in cursive onto her stomach with his finger, sometimes drags his thumb over her breast. Sleep is coming after him, making him feel warm and heavy.

“Ben,” Leslie says. She kisses his nose. He groans. “You should make sure your sister is okay.”

“She s’okay.”

Leslie says his name again but snuggles into his chest, wrapping her legs with his. Ben holds onto her and breathes in the smell of sex, sweat, and dirt. Her socks are soft on his legs and he hums at the soft comfort she creates by moving her feet along his calves.

“Ben, check on your sister,” she says, snuggling closer. “You have to clean up anyway.”

Ben groans and tickles her sides and she squirms away, laughing. They kiss a few times before Ben stands up, throwing his undershirt on over his head and a pair of jeans. He stops first at the bathroom and then looks over the banister at Stephanie, who hasn’t moved from coloring and watching My Little Pony. 

“You doing okay, Steph?”

“Yeah.”

“Bed time soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

Ben rubs his face and smooths down his hair before he walks back into his room. Leslie’s on his bed, sitting cross legged in the middle with a Batman comic open in her lap. She’s wearing his jersey and her panties and Ben feels like this may be the time his brain actually explodes.

“That a good one?”

“So far.”

Leslie looks up at him and closes the book, placing it on the bed. She smiles and pushes her chin up for a kiss and he gives her a small one on the mouth.

“I can take you home after my mom gets home.” Ben hooks a finger in the collar of his jersey and looks down the shirt. “Also, as much as I love this look, you should probably put on pants before my mom comes home.”

“Which is when?” she asks, pulling on his jean pocket.

He lets her pull him forward and kisses her, bracing his hands on either side of her. She rubs her nose against his and he kisses her again, deeper this time, until he feels like his body is on fire.

“Probably an hour or so.”

She smiles, giving his mouth a faint lick.

“Oh well,” she says, “that’s enough time for another run around the bases.”

Okay, yeah, he loves her.

But he’s not going to tell her that. Not yet.


End file.
